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"You hold on to this one, Brandon," Susan was saying. "She's a keeper."
At that, Brandon looked up to his now-parents. "Susan, I'm not sure––"
"I told them everything," I cut in, the words rising out of me before I could stop them. His reticence to accept Susan's sudden endorsement was so clear––I couldn't bear for him to refuse it simply because he thought I had earned it under false pretenses.
"I told them everything," I repeated quietly. "After all, we can't be something we're not with the people we love, can we?"
Brandon just studied me for a moment more, and I forced myself to meet his inquisitive gaze head on.
"No," he said finally. "We can't."
Then he turned back to the bar and signed the document with a flourish, then handed it back to Ray and Susan. All three of them beamed––even Ray. Actually, this might have been the first time I'd ever seen the man smile.
"There," Brandon said. "It's official. Should I call you Mom and Dad now?"
But the joke didn't last long, since Susan launched herself at him, and Ray was soon pulled into a bear hug as well. I dabbed at my eyes with a cocktail napkin, while Brandon scrunched his eyes shut, clearly overwhelmed by the moment.
I slid off my stool, prepared to let the new-old family have a moment to themselves, but was stopped by Brandon's hand tugging me back.
"Wait," he said as he stroked his mother's hair.
With a brief smile, I stood by while they finished their tight embrace, and then waited as Ray pushed away awkwardly and Susan wiped the tears out of her eyes.
"Oh, you sweet boy," she said as she reached up to frame Brandon's shining face between her hands. "We love you always. Happy Birthday."
"Happy Birthday, Bran," Ray said gruffly as he put the document back into his bag. He cleared his throat for what must have been the twentieth time in five minutes. "I need a beer. Susan, can we make an exception tonight?"
"Oh Ray, it's a party. Let's all celebrate, shall we?"
And with that, she chased him to the other side of the bar, leaving Brandon and me alone. We both leaned against the bar top, nothing touching, but our fingertips less than an inch apart.
"You did this," Brandon said again. "All of this. For me?"
Wordlessly, I nodded and took a long drink of my whiskey soda. Brandon followed the glass from my lips back down to the bar, then lifted his gaze back to my eyes.
"Why?"
"I just...you always do so much for everyone else. I guess I just thought...I thought you deserved it, that's all."
As I said the words, I found they were truer than I thought. Most of this had started out as a massive apology––a plan to win back the love of my life, to make him trust that I truly loved him. But now I realized how little of it had to do with that. I hadn't done it to see the look on his face when he walked into a crowd of people who so clearly adored him, or to watch as he realized just how much the people who had taken him in as a troubled teen truly loved him and wanted him for always.
I had done it just to make him happy. And that, I realized, is what you do when you love someone.
"Do you mind?" I asked suddenly. "Is it too much?"
Brandon's face softened. "No, of course I don't mind." He looked me over, his eyes lighting on the dress. "I always liked this dress."
"I thought you did."
Thank God, he remembered. The black knit fabric was a little warm for the end of August, but the look on his face was worth it. Brandon fingered the cap sleeve for a moment. Even the distant touch of his fingers on my shoulder sent a shiver down my arm, but in the best possible way. This close, after another week of barely touching...I could smell him, could feel him. I wanted nothing more than to sink into him, to help him forget everything that had happened, to forget myself.
He was looking at me like he wanted to do the same thing. His fingers slipped a bit closer and drifted down my arm, over the top of my hand, fingernails tracing over the smooth skin, up and down a few times. I leaned closer. His blue eyes dropped, suddenly zeroing in on my lips.
"Brandon," I whispered. "Please."
He inhaled sharply, slowly opening his mouth. But then he blinked abruptly, and shut it just as suddenly.
"Not now," he said, taking a step back. "Let's just...enjoy the party, okay?"
I watched him turn abruptly and weave his way through the crowd, finding a familiar face in it and join a conversation with the ease of a practiced politician. Which, of course, he very nearly was. When I turned, I found Eric watching me sympathetically. He had clearly seen the whole exchange, and I obviously looked pathetic.
He slid back down the bar and patted my back.
"Don't worry," he said. "He'll come around. In the end, he knows who loves him. And that's obviously you."
I picked up my drink and took a long sip, watching and yearning for the golden-crowned man laughing across the room. I hoped that Eric was right.
~
